Obliviate
by Vestal Harlot
Summary: How could a single spell erase your entire life? Hermione didn't know either.
1. Prologue

_Disclaimer- I am not J.K. Rowling_

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**Obliviate**

**Prologue**

Whirling, twirling, spinning.

The bright world was dancing to an eccentric ballad only it could keep pace to. Around and around it went, blazing brilliantly over her head, mesmerizing her with its movements.

She tried to watch it dance, but it hurt too much. The pain had spread to every corner of her person.

Whirling, twirling, spinning.

Reaching out, she tried to grab it; but the pain seized her body in its crushing grip, and with a gasp, her hand fell to her side. Still, the luminous world danced around her face.

It was all too much. She was losing a hopeless battle to the pain. It had her whole body aflame with its agonizing burn.

Suddenly, the shining world disappeared. Darkness eclipsed her, moving over her face and cocooning her body. The darkness was cool as it caressed her burning skin, somehow absorbing her terrible pain.

She sighed as the darkness soothed her, allowing it to move swiftly into her mouth, entering her body, welcome as water in the desert. She could feel it moving within her, absorbing all of her pain into itself.

Sweet relief. The pain was gone. The darkness crept out of her body and disappeared, taking all of her agony with it. She was now free to stare at the bright, glittering world around her.

Smiling, she reached up to touch it, but quickly recoiled. The world burned worse than her pain had. She tried to back away from it, but she was held in place by invisible bonds. To her horror, it came dancing closer and closer to her then it had ever had before.

She screamed when the world finally came crashing down.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

The girl felt as though she had woken from a very long, very exciting dream. It had started like most lovely dreams do; with the warm feelings of contentment and happiness. The dream had then taken a dramatic turn, and she had been in her own mind's peril. But before the climax, the girl had slipped out of her dream world and back into reality. The very second she had woken up; all memories of the dream had faded, never to return to their creator.

She couldn't shake the feeling of disappointment. This dream had seemed very important to her. This is why she had her eyes clenched shut, determined to lull herself back into sleep in effort to return to that most magnificent dream.

It was very hard to. Whatever it was that she was lying on was very cold. As a matter of fact, the room she was in was decidedly chilly. The girl knew that if she even squinted that all chances of falling back into slumber were impossible.

She squeezed her eyes a little tighter.

_You know you're going to have to open your eyes sometime. You've got better things to do than laze about all day like a great lout._

Frowning, the girl bit a corner of her chapped lip.

_Is there anything I should, even could be doing right now? Was I doing anything before I fell asleep?_

She squirmed a little bit on what she know recognized as a stone floor. Her frown deepened and her lip started to bleed.

_I can't remember a single thing! Why was I sleeping on the floor? Good Lord, what's my name?_

The girl started to weep. Tears forced themselves out from behind her eyelids and down her face. She continued to cry for a few minutes before she started to process her thoughts again.

_I must not be fully awake yet, it must be a post dream haze. Yes. That has to be it. There's no other logical explanation for this silly memory loss to be anything else._

Somewhat satisfied with that conclusion, her tears slowly abated but never fully stopped as the girl tried to content herself with her own explanation.

_I must really be out of it. I'm so tired I can't even stop crying. Perhaps I should just rest a little while longer. Once I have all of my energy back I'm sure this forgetfulness will pass. _

Now nearly fully convinced, the girl tried to make herself more comfortable, but to little avail. The girl sighed and gave up, surrendering to the hard floor. She had nearly drifted off into a light doze when a draft colder than the room swept over her. The girl whimpered and tucked her fists under her chin, determined to ignore the distraction.

Her bed of stone vibrated lightly as something paced around her curled form. Whatever it was moved so silently that she could barely here the swishing of the intruder's clothes. The person stopped moving after circling her three or so times. She felt another small gush of cold air as the intruder bent down over her.

The girl was now very annoyed. She wanted, no needed, to go back to sleep, and this intruder was making that task very difficult.

_If I ignore him, maybe he'll go away…_

She rolled over to her other side, tuning her back on the intruder. The girl heard the intruder stand up and walk away from her. She smiled in satisfaction.

A smooth chuckle broke her victory.

"Open your eyes, my dear. I know you're awake." The intruder had a very sharp, clear voice, one that was definitely male. His voice suggested that he was very pleased with himself, though she did not know why.

"I just had the most fascinating dream…but I can't seem to remember any of it." The girl mumbled. "I can't remember anything, actually. That's why I'm trying to go back to sleep."

"You think that sleep will help you remember?" The man asked quietly.

"Of course it will. There isn't any other possible reason…"She drifted off, already close to falling back asleep.

The man laughed again, very coldly this time. It was not at all a pleasant sound.

"The dream is gone, Hermione." _Is that my name? "_It will never come back." The man bent down even closer to her face. She could feel his breath on her cheek.

"Open your eyes." What linger of a laugh had been in his voice had now evaporated. This was a command. Something inside Hermione, if that was her name, told her she should obey the man.

Sparkling rubies. These were the first things Hermione saw when she opened her eyes.

"Beautiful…"She moved her hand to touch one, but instead of touching a cool stone as she had expected all she felt was smooth skin.

These were no precious gems. What she had though were rubies were actually eyes that belonged to a pale, emaciated face. She gently ran her fingers over his face, tracing the area below his eyes. Something seemed like it was missing. His lips, which were curled up into a smirk, seemed very thin. Her own seemed much puffier than his.

Hermione could not recall what she, or any other, might look like. For this reason she was unafraid of the man's appearance before her. There was no comparison.

Finally, after her exploration of his face, she asked,

"Who are you?"


	2. Chapter 1

**Obliviate**

**Chapter One**

"I am your master." The man stated simply, placing a cool hand gently on her cheek. "And you are my young ward."

Hermione sighed in contentment. If he was her enemy, he would have hurt her already. She was safe. This man was her protector.

"I suppose I should be grateful that it was you who found me, then." She smiled up at her keeper. "But pray tell, does my Lord have a surname for me to address him?"

"Content yourself with 'My Lord' for now, dear Hermione. You have had a rather taxing day." He began to lightly stroke her cheek with his long fingers.

Hermione shivered again. Although this man claimed to be her master, his touch felt foreign. The temperature of his hand brought something back to her attention.

"My Lord, would you please tell me why I'm lying on the floor?" Her Lord's hand stopped moving at the question. Looking up at him she was startled to see how angry he looked. There was a deadly fire behind his eyes and his lips curled back in a feral growl. Hermione's eyes widened and she scooted away from him.

"When a Lord displays great power, he is bound to attract attention from a myriad of sources. While I have gained many…_devoted_ followers, my powers have made others very envious. I have many enemies, Hermione, though few are worthy of notice." The man stood up in a swirl of black robes and stalked over to her, the terrible flame of anger still burning in his red eyes.

"Not an hour ago my followers were engaged in a small conflict with a few of these worthless nonentities. One of them had something I desired, and I had given the more cunning of my followers the task of retrieving this item. Such a simple task it was…" The man seethed, clenching his fists until they were chalk white.

Hermione watched him, too scared to move any further distance away from this man.

"Things didn't go as planned, I take it?" She said in a high voice, balling her hands into fists and tucking them under her chin.

"Not in the slightest." He once again knelt down beside her. Hermione abruptly turned her head the other way, trembling with fear. She felt the tips of cold fingers on her chin.

_Please don't hurt me._

"Now is not the time to be afraid, Hermione." He whispered into her ear. If it was possible, he seemed even closer than when she had first opened her eyes. Slowly, he turned her head toward his.

The inferno of fury in his eyes had simmered to a mere spark. Hermione gave another sigh of relief. His face was no longer contorted with rage. Instead, he looked rather removed of all emotion.

"More people arrived, enemies of mine who are a far greater threat than their useless peons who had my item. These people, who call themselves an Order, fought well enough, but my loyal followers had the upper hand. It was not until their leader arrived that my plan truly went awry. They captured nearly all of my best men and destroyed the object that I had sought." Hermione lay a still shaking hand on his, giving her master as much comfort as she could. He took her hand and massaged it to stillness.

"The mission may have failed, but I gained something even greater than what I originally sought." Hermione looked quizzically at him, but his only response was a private smile. He did look very pleased with himself.

"But _they_ are the reason why you lay upon the floor. _They_ are the reason why you cannot remember." Hermione felt tears swell in her eyes, but these were not the tears of hopelessness that had washed over her face minutes before.

"What did they do to me?" She whispered in quiet anger.

"They attacked you," She raised an eyebrow and his lip quirked, "and left a very harmful wound upon you." He motioned toward her stomach. "A very deep cut between your ribs. If I hadn't arrived in time you would have lost more than your memory." He tucked an errant curl behind her ear. "I had to get you back to my manor as soon as possible, and this was the place that happened to be the most convenient and safe to keep you until you had woken."

"But-but what about my dream? It seemed so important...less of a dream and more like a look into one's life. Was it just a trick of theirs?" She snarled, unknowingly gripping her nails into her Lord's hand.

"It was just a dream, your mind playing tricks on your weary self. Nothing more, nothing less." Their eyes locked. "I told you, the dream is gone. It would be best for you to forget that you even had it." Hermione nodded. She looked down and saw that her nails were set firmly in her Lord's hand, and he was bleeding because of it. Horrified, she released it immediately, searching her Lord's eyes for that terrible anger.

She found nothing but self-satisfaction.

_Why would he be pleased to bleed?_

Her Lord offered her one of his pale hands. She took it delicately and was abruptly brought to her feet, swaying slightly from the strength in his grip. When her master let her hand go she gasped and swayed precariously.

"Your Lord has already healed your wound." His eyes narrowed. The man grabbed onto her right shoulder to keep her from falling. "What ails you now, Hermione?"

"There is no pain, My Lord…" Hermione paused. The grip he had on her shoulder was almost painful, but she had no wish to anger her volatile savior. She took a deep breath. "But I…I cannot…I seem…I don't remember exactly how to _walk_, my Lord." Her cheeks turned hot and she ducked her head, mortified.

He chuckled.

"So we can remember how to talk;" her blush deepened and he smirked, "but not to walk? Well this just won't do at all, my dear, not at all." His hand left her shoulder and he moved in front of the room's open doorway, blocking the only exit.

"Better start remembering. Don't worry, you won't fall. We can't have you injuring yourself so soon after that nasty…accident." His smirk turned into a frightful scowl. "Now start."

Hermione extended her arms to maintain balance, though it did little to stop her wobbling. She took a deep breath and slowly picked up her right foot. Not knowing what to do, she raised it to be level with her knee.

It was harder to stay balanced that way.

"That's far too high; merely lift your foot _slightly _above the ground." Hermione immediately dropped her right foot with a loud stomp. She closed her eyes and grimaced at the sound. Cautiously, she raised her left foot this time, just a hair above the floor, and set it down almost silently.

"That's not so hard, is it now my dear?" He leaned casually against the door frame, twirling what looked like a wooden stick between his fingers. A chill ran through Hermione. "Keep going."

She took another step, this time with more confidence. "What is that?"

"This?" He danced his fingers over the stick. Hermione frowned. She didn't like that.

"Obviously," she said, slightly surprised at the anger in her voice. Another step. "Tell me."

He shook his head and gave a cold laugh. "Manners, Hermione, manners. Can you not even remember the simple etiquette of treating your master with respect?"

While this only served to further infuriate her, Hermione knew she would have to hold her tongue. "Please," she smiled daggers at him, "tell me." She was halfway across the room now, concentrating solely on the slim piece of wood.

_That's mine._

"This is indeed yours." She stumbled slightly and staggered to the wall, staring wide eyed at the man. He laughed again.

"You wear your thoughts on your face, my dear. You would do better to disguise them so as to not get caught unawares." He tucked the stick into his voluminous robes, eyes dangerous slits. "I will save this lesson for later. Before you get any more questions answered, you _will _walk over here. Get away from the wall!" Startled again, this time at his irascible command, Hermione immediately shoved herself away from the wall.

She walked quickly and awkwardly over him, still half expecting to fall over. Soon she stood before him, torn between wanting to yell at him and cowering on the floor. She chose to do neither, but rather crossed her arms and huffed indignantly.

"Good girl." His eyes lost some of their harshness, and he put a cool hand on her shoulder. "Now you are to come with me. It's time for you to come home."

He guided her out of the room and past a few barred cells. When he had said dungeon he had not been exaggerating.

_Why here? Why would he put me here? Well, he said it was the most convenient and safe place. He was just looking out for me. Who would expect to find me in the dungeon of my own keeper? Yes. Very safe. _

When they reached the narrow, dark stairway that lead up from the dungeons, Hermione gave the man a baffled look. Stairs were beyond her newfound ability.

And so her keeper, her protector, her master swept her up into his arms and carried her up the stairs and into the home which she could not remember.


	3. Chapter 2

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_**Obliviate**

**Chapter Two**

Hermione soon became very dizzy from the speed of her Lord's pace as he carried her up the winding staircase. Her body barely bobbed with each step he took, making her feel like she was drifting upon a darkly clad, ruby-eyed cloud. Hermione inhaled sharply as the dungeon door flew open before they reached it, as if an invisible wind had forced its way through.

And, all of a sudden, her world changed. The cold, dreary cell where she had awoken morphed into light and warmth. Torches lined the dark marble wall, illuminating every inch of the vast corridor. The floor was covered with a lush, red velvet rug that spanned the entire length of the hallway. As they traveled down the hallway, Hermione began to notice many paintings of fair-haired, sneering men and women. They almost appeared to move in the swaying torchlight.

One portrait in particular, perhaps for its uniqueness, unnerved Hermione above the others. An elderly man with long, ghost white hair and near pointed teeth glared down at her. His skin had an eerie, greenish tint to it, and was covered in deep pockmarks.

"Were these real people?" Hermione asked faintly, unable to take her eyes away from the horrible, greenish, old man.

"Once." He glanced down at the young woman in his arms and frowned at her obvious alarm. "But all have long since been deceased." Hermione nodded, grateful that they had passed the frightening man.

"Do not fear them, my dear. They have their scowls, but I have seen to it that they no longer have their voices." He smirked, looking pleased with himself. Hermione wasn't sure exactly what he meant, but couldn't help feeling reassured.

Out of all the ferocious looking portraits, not one of them looked quite as strange as her Lord, not even the green skinned man. _What does a face really matter, if it protects me?_ Hermione looked up at his pale face, not a trace of aggression in his peculiar eyes.

"My Lord, is it normal to have red eyes?" Hermione didn't think so, but she wasn't going to judge all humans by these vicious portraits. She wanted her assumptions verified.

"Not in the slightest." Hermione pursed her lips. _"_Why are your eyes red then? They look far too dark to be merely bloodshot." Her Lord shook his head in amusement.

"Correct, my dear. We will talk about this another day." Hermione grumbled at his dismissal. She didn't want to wait for answers. They kept walking down the seemingly endless corridor; with each step, the torches, and thankfully, the paintings becoming more and more sparse. But something itched at the back of her mind. _There is something else off about them. _ Without saying a word she reached up to his face and stroked the area between his eyes and mouth.

"What is it, Hermione?" Her Lord asked brusquely. Still silent, Hermione moved her hand to her own face, and gasped.

"I have a..._nose..._too," she said more to herself than her companion. "So, you are the anomaly in _all_ respects," Hermione said blankly to the man holding her.

"Yes, I am."He didn't seem to take it as an insult at all, quite the opposite in fact. He had that smug look about him again. Hermione opened her mouth to ask another question, but her Lord cut her off before she said a word.

"Once again, on another day, we will discuss my nostrils." As if on cue, he sniffed. "We are here."

They had reached the end of the corridor. A huge, ominous, wooden door towered to the ceiling, as if daring anyone to enter. Hermione was abruptly brought to her feet as her Lord placed her none too gently on the ground. _I'm lucky I didn't fall_, Hermione groused, steadying herself on the floor. She looked to her Lord, who was tapping at the door with a large, silver snake knocker. After three dull 'thuds,' the door creaked open, sending a rumble through the floor from its heavy weight. Hermione expected it to take a while to open, due to its immense size, but in a few short seconds it was completely open.

The hallway behind the door was more brightly lit than the one Hermione stood in now, and she wasted no time lingering on the darker side. _I've had enough of the dark for a while, _Hermione thought with a cheery smile. As soon as she and her Lord had passed through, the door closed, quiet as the flickering torchlight.

"This," her Lord gestured, "is your home." Hermione laughed out loud in delight. _Finally, I'm home! _This hallway was much narrower than the immense one she had been carried through, but she liked it better this way. She didn't feel nearly as lost.

"You will never leave this wing without my permission, Hermione." She frowned at that, slowly turning to face her Lord.

"Why? I don't like the idea of being confined _at all_,"Hermione emphasized, putting her hands on her hips. Her Lord began to laugh at once.

"That's not funny! You can't keep me here!" she shouted at him, her voice rising higher than she had intended it to. He didn't think that was very funny, however. Her Lord immediately stopped laughing. He slowly walked over to her, slowly enough for Hermione to see the rage blazing in his eyes. She took a step back, not wanting to be near that anger again, especially if it was directed at her.

"I can," he hissed, grabbing her chin and forcing her to look at him, "and believe me, I _will_ keep you here if you so happen to wander astray. For your sake, I hope it will not come to that." He pressed a thumb against her lips that forced her to stay quiet. "Do not trifle with a Lord such as myself, you foolish girl."

However afraid Hermione was of her Lord in that moment, her own anger at being treated so subserviently blinded her reason. Hermione bit down on his thumb, hard enough to make him recoil, but not enough to bleed.

"How is it that a Lord, of such grand prestige as yours, doesn't even have a name?" Hermione growled, pointing a finger at his chest. The second the words left her mouth, her rage chilled to the cold realization of what she had done. Hermione ducked her head and stared open mouthed at the floor.

"Hermione." She didn't even dare to look up. A long, pale finger lifted her head. Hermione didn't know what he was going to do._ Would he strike me? _She closed her eyes, preparing for the pain.

"Great Salazar girl, I'm not going to hit you." _What? He's not?__ I-I don't believe-_

"What's a Salazar?" Hermione burst out, on the verge of tears. Her Lord chuckled at her.

"There's my Hermione. Before your little tantrum," she winced, "I was going to mention that you have everything you could possibly want in this wing, even a library." Hermione's face lit up. Instinct was telling her that this was a very, very good thing.

"I will take you to the library, where you can read as much as you want about Salazar," Hermione rubbed her hands together with excitement, "after you have taken a bath." Hermione coughed.

"I'm perfectly clean, thank you very much," she asserted. "You can take me to the library right now then, seeing as I don't smell or anything."

"I don't believe I said anything about you smelling odiously. I merely think you would find a bath very relaxing." Hermione quirked her head at him.

"I am perfectly relaxed." She narrowed her eyes at him. "Is there a double motive here?"

He smirked at her. "Absolutely. Your clothes are rather atrocious. They are unsuitable for a ward of this Lord to wear." Hermione glanced down at her clothes. They looked more like rags than anything else, and the majority of the fabric was blood soaked and ripped. She looked to her Lord.

"I see your point. I'll take the bath, but mind you, it will be quick!" Hermione wanted no time wasted. Her mind had literally been wiped blank, much like a book without words, and she wanted to start filling those empty pages as soon as possible.

"Take as long or as quickly as you want, it does not matter. " He began to walk down the hallway. "Come, Hermione. I will show you to your room."

She had to hurry to keep pace with him. He was much taller than she was, and his steps were her leaps. Hermione followed him up a curving white marble staircase, and then to the end of the corridor.

Double oak doors guarded her bedroom, but Hermione didn't get a chance to open them before they swung open, much like the door to the dungeon had. Hermione stepped in and looked around.

"My Lord, I haven't stayed in this room before, have I?" The room was large, very large and completely _empty_. There was a stone fireplace facing a dark blue canopy, which hid what looked like a decent sized bed. Apart from that, there was a table with a waning candlestick, a large window covered by drapes, and a dresser.

"Correct again, Hermione. I have moved you to this solitary wing, where no one can disturb you. The only personal items you cared for were books. And we both know where those can be found." Her desire to read as much as she could intensified with his words. The Hermione she once was, and would likely never remember, loved to read. She smiled sadly. No wonder she felt such a longing.

"The door to the bath is right over here." He crossed the room over to the dresser, beckoning Hermione to follow. As Hermione approached the dresser, she noticed how very odd it was. There were about twenty differently shaped knobs, none of them the same color. Each knob had a drawer, all of varying sizes. A small golden sphere looked to hold one third of the dresser, while an oversized red rose had maybe six centimeters of space.

"What is the reason for all of these?" She reached for a light blue spiral knob, but her Lord swatted her hand away.

"For now, only concern yourself with this one." He pointed toward the golden sphere. "Once you have taken your bath, you will find everything you need in that drawer."

Behind where her Lord stood was yet another door, one that she hadn't noticed because he had been standing directly in front of it. He pushed the door open, which by now surprised Hermione more than the doors that flew open for him.

Hermione had not wanted to take a bath before, but that changed as she entered the most elegant bathroom she had ever been in. _Well, obviously, _she snorted. The entire bathroom was white marble and very well lit, thanks to a small gold chandelier. To her left was a round bathtub with dozens of faucets, not unlike the dresser. There was also a toilet, a sink, and -

"Is that me?" Straight across from her was a reflection of the room and her Lord. Next to him was a much shorter young woman with long, very tangled dark brown hair. Her face was pale, although it didn't seem that way compared to the man next to her. Her Lord had been under exaggerating when he told Hermione that her clothes were "rather atrocious." Seeing them in their mangled, bloody, entirety, Hermione wanted nothing more than to get them off her body, scrub herself raw, and burn the offending material.

"Clearly." Hermione ignored his sarcasm and stepped closer to the mirror. Brown eyes watched her as she raised her left hand, her image raising the opposite. Hermione put a hand on her cheek, slowly rubbing off some dry blood, watching the mirror self do the same. She wasn't sure if she liked it or not.

"If we're done admiring ourselves,"_ C__ouldn't hold it in any longer, could you? _"I will show you how to draw a bath." _And I will take one, but I can't make everything easy for you._

"Of course, My Lord." She beamed at him. He sighed.

"You'll take the bath whether you want to or not, but I am in no mood for getting splashed." Hermione's cheeks were beginning to hurt from smiling so much, but she held it. "What is your ultimatum?"

"I will take the bath, willingly and gladly, if you tell me your name." Her Lord scanned her face, deciding if she was serious or not. "And you won't get a drop on you."

After a millisecond of deliberation, he replied,

"Very well." His lips turned upward for a moment before returning to indifference. "Never lose a battle without gaining something in return, very good Hermione." _It's hardly that important, _she thought, looking with interest at her Lord. He raised a lazy hand to the faucets.

"The gold faucet is for hot water, the silver for cold. The rest are up to you to figure out. I trust you won't drown." He simply turned and walked out of the bathroom after that. Hermione shrugged. She tinkered with the many faucets for a few minutes before deciding on hot, lavender bubbled bath. Once it was prepared, Hermione literally ripped her tattered clothes off and dived in the tub.

_Bliss._

She floated on the sweet, lilac scented bubbles. Lying on her back with closed eyes, Hermione fantasized that she had memories.

True to her word, Hermione didn't spend more than ten minutes in that paradise. As strong of a lure it was to bathe her day away, the library had an ever greater pull. She reluctantly stepped out of the tub, dripping water all over the floor.

"Oh no," Hermione muttered to herself. She felt guilty about making such a mess. "My Lord, I accidentally, ah, well, there's a bit of a mess in here." Hermione didn't know what else to do but to call out to him. She barely had any time to worry about her mess when her Lord was back.

"I'm so sorry, my Lord, I wasn't thinking and - " Hermione stopped suddenly. Her Lord didn't appear to be paying attention to the pool of water on the ground. He was looking a bit higher up, and his eyes were dark with a strange desire.

"Under typical circumstances," her Lord gave her a blatant look over and leered, "young women do not display their...charms...in the presence of a man." Hermione's cheeks turned bright pink at his casual remark. She hurriedly flung an arm over her breasts and attempted to cover her pubic hair, but her attempt was cut short by a small chuckle.

"Too little, too late, dear Hermione," he taunted, his amusement deepening Hermione's blush. _Thanks for pointing it out, _she thought icily. _At least I'm not in front of the mirror._ She tightened her arms around her nude body and turned her head away from him, not wanting to see his derisive grin. Hermione tensed for his impending barb, willing herself to not let his teasing get to her.

"Here." She turned back to him, surprised by the gentleness in his tone. He held a cream colored towel in his large hands and slowly presented it to her. Hermione gave him a soft smile, momentarily forgetting his taunts, before snatching the towel and wrapping it securely around her body in a matter of seconds.

"Now, isn't that better?" Her Lord crooned, reaching out to stroke her wet hair. She rolled her eyes and scoffed, although not moving her head away from his touch.

"It's certainly not your fault you can't remember even simple modesty." He untangled a wet curl and patted her cheek sympathetically. "But, you are very fortunate that it was I, not some disgusting cretin," he spat, "that found you at such a vulnerable moment. Most would have taken...advantage of you." Hermione grimaced and held back a shudder. _He's right. No matter the embarrassment, at least I'm i__n no danger with him. _ "Are you now beginning to understand why I cannot let you leave this wing?"

Hermione sighed. "Yes, I suppose I am." She reluctantly agreed. "At least, I have a library to keep me from getting bored to tears," she mumbled grumpily. "You will show me soon, won't you?"

"Of course." He grinned, placing a hand on her shoulder. "But before I do, you will change into something a bit more appropriate, my dear." Her Lord pushed her lightly toward the open door to her room. "I will remain here until you are decent." Remembering that she was indeed quite naked under the towel, she dashed away from him. Hermione had made it to her room and had almost closed the door by the time she remembered their agreement.

"My Lord?" Hermione quietly asked him through the doorway. He raised a nonchalant eyebrow and crossed his arms, giving the impression of being quite bored.

"Yes, Hermione?" She gritted her teeth at his deliberately slow drawl. _Honestly! I swear he irritates me just for the fun of it._

"What is your name?"

Now _that _brought him out of his feigned apathy almost how short of a time she had known him, she had never seen such intensity, not even in anger, behind those red eyes. Hermione shivered, but kept eye contact. A moment passed, and the intensity faded. Her Lord smiled.

"I am Lord Voldemort."


	4. Chapter 3

**Obliviate**

**Chapter Three**

"Lord Voldemort," Hermione whispered as she closed the door. The nape of her neck tickled as she rolled her tongue over the name.

"Lord Voldemort," she said again, walking slowly to the dresser. _Does this make me some sort of Lady? _He had said she was his ward, but that didn't exactly give her a clear idea of her status. _Am I related to him?_ Hermione frowned, chewing her lip. Pure intuition, although a poor substitute for actual memories, would have to be enough to rely on for the time being. And intuition was giving her a resounding _no _in answer_. _She was sure he would have said if they were blood kin; perhaps they were related in a different way? How did it come to pass that she was in his care? Hermione groaned, shaking her head. _The questions are endless!_

Hermione reached the dresser, eyes sweeping over the many knobs. The man (_Lord Voldemort_, she corrected) had told her the gold sphere would have what she needed, but there were so many more interesting looking ones. The large red rose with the small drawer caught her attention again, along with a silver ouroboros snake that was in the center of the dresser. She sighed, reluctantly focusing her attention on the ordinary gold sphere. As much as she wanted to look through all the drawers, she didn't want to waste time and risk the chance of her Lord coming to collect her. He _had _said he would wait for her, but Hermione didn't have faith in his patience.

Not to mention, she wasn't looking for a repeat of the bathroom. It just wouldn't do to dawdle and have him barge in on her while she was "indecent". Hermione groaned again, banging her forehead lightly on the dresser. She really couldn't believe she'd done _that._

After a few more 'thuds', Hermione drew her now slightly-sore brow away from the dresser.

"Time to get dressed then." She sighed, wearily pulling the golden knob. Inside was a neatly folded white garment along with a nude brassiere and underwear. Flicking her eyes to the door to make sure she did have her privacy, Hermione slowly unwrapped the towel before draping it over the dresser. The white garment turned out to be a simple cap sleeved dress. She shrugged. It looked nice, though in comparison to her old clothes even the curtains would be more favorable_._ Hermione draped the dress over the drawer and examined the brassiere. With a frown, she set to the task of nibbling her bottom lip again.

_I was wearing one of these before...but it didn't have that hook in the back. _Hermione gently squished the material of the cup between her fingers. _Or that stiffness. _Gingerly, Hermione lifted the brassiere and slid the straps over her arms. Her breasts fit into the stiff cup perfectly, and she managed to hook the back of the brassiere with only minor difficulty.

"That wasn't so bad." Hermione smiled. She slipped the panties on and pulled the dress on over her head. The garment fell just below her knees and tickled her skin. Looking back into the drawer, Hermione was surprised to find a pair of white and gold satin flats.

"What's this?" Hermione narrowed her eyes and gave the offending shoes a hard poke.

"I hardly believe the footwear deserves such hostility." Lord Voldemort commented dryly, leaning against the door frame. Hermione, startled, swirled around to face him, her wet hair slapping her face.

"They weren't there a minute ago!" Hermione protested, motioning wildly toward the dresser. She could feel her cheeks flush with irritation when he started to chuckle. "I'm not kidding!"

"And it is, of course, impossible, for one such as yourself to overlook said attire." Hermione held up her chin and huffed at him, throwing her hair over her shoulder.

"Not impossible, just _highly _improbable." She asserted, putting her hands on her hips.

"Well then," his voice took on a tone of mock childishness, "It must be magic."

Hermione laughed.

"Don't be silly, my Lord." She scolded good-naturedly. "I'm sure if I can't remember my past, overlooking a pair of shoes is well within my area of expertise." Hermione's jovial grin turned somber, and she dropped her gaze to her toes.

"Hermione." He was suddenly close, running a pale hand through her damp hair. "Do not fret. Lord Voldemort will teach you everything you ever knew, and so much more." One long finger ghosted over her cheek before settling at her temple, massaging her softly. Hermione leaned into his touch.

"Thank you." She whispered, raising her eyes to his. He wasn't smiling, but something in his red eyes warmed her. _ I believe him._

Lord Voldemort did not reply immediately. He began to rub a strand of her drying hair between his forefinger and thumb.

"I think it is nearly time we made our journey to the library."

Hermione clapped her hands together and laughed, beaming at Lord Voldemort. "Oh, yes please!" She sashayed away from him, over to the dresser to pull on the aforementioned flats. "Let's go then!" Hermione was halfway to the door when she realized that he wasn't following her. Impatient, she gave a loud sigh before turning back to him.

"You did say we'd be visiting the library _soon." _ Hermione restrained herself from tapping her foot.

"I did say that, didn't I?" He replied, still standing on the other side of the room. Lord Voldemort was holding that same peculiar piece of wood she felt a strange lure to earlier. Her throat went dry and her flesh turned to ice when she saw him tapping it nonchalantly against the door frame.

"What is that, exactly, my Lord?" She moved closer, eyes never leaving the stick. He might have answered, but all she heard was _tap tap tap._

"Stop that." Hermione spoke quietly. He slowly lessened the taps, but did not desist. Her cheeks turned to fire and she snarled, "_Stop it."_

This time, he did.

Hermione felt a sharp pain on her palms. Looking down, she was surprised to find her hands clenched into fists so tight her fingernails had dug in. Slowly, she opened her hands. Tiny drops of blood fell to the floor.

Too late, she realized, she had been quite rude to her Lord. Her bleeding hands trembled slightly as she looked up into his eyes. Faintly, as though an echo of a thought, she realized that her blood was the same color as his eyes.

"I...I'm sorry." Hermione whispered. His eyes bored into hers, as though assessing the sincerity of her apology.

"It was wrong of me to lose my temper like that, my Lord." Not able to take his piercing gaze any longer, she looked down at her still-bleeding hands. "I do not know what came over me."

"I do." His voice, low and certain, wrapped around her heart in an icy grip. Slowly, he placed the wooden stick into her open hands. It was oddly warm. Hermione curled her blood smeared fingers around the wood and gasped. An intense heat flooded her body and Hermione swayed from the sensation. When long, white fingers grabbed her shoulders the heat receded somewhere lower in her body, leaving her with an uncomfortable throbbing.

"This is yours, Hermione my sweet." Hermione, dazed, nodded with a vague smile. The throbbing between her legs slowly lessened in intensity, and she was much relieved when he removed his hands from her shoulders.

"I know." She said quietly, running her fingers over the wood. "I knew when you first found me." Frowning, she looked up at him. "What is it?"

He gave her an impish smirk. "Do you believe in magic, Hermione?"

She scoffed. "My Lord, that's childish nonsense!"

"Is it so far-fetched, to believe such a thing?" His serious tone took Hermione aback, and she quickly dropped her gaze.

"It...well...it just doesn't seem feasible." She offered. He tilted his head slightly and smirked.

And the room turned pitch black.

Hermione nearly screamed. She clamped both hands over her mouth to prevent herself, and in her sudden alarm, her newly found possession let loose a shower of red and gold sparks.

Hermione did scream this time, and the still sparking object clattered to the floor.

"I-I what is that?" She stuttered, heart beating rapidly, staring wide eyed at that- _whatever that thing is._

"It hardly seems _feasible, _does it?" Lord Voldemort laughed, his mouth curling into a superior grin. Red sparks danced across his pale face. "Now, pick up your wand, Hermione."

"A what?" She tore her bewilderment away from the object in question and fixed it upon him.

"A wand," he hissed, his haughty grin slowly turning into a sneer, "and I do believe I told you to _pick it up."_

She didn't need to be told thrice. She bent slowly and cautiously prodded the wand with her right hand. The sparks waned in intensity, and when she gingerly picked it up they desisted completely. The wand was cool against her sweating palms, gently lulling her agitated nerves into a less erratic rhythm. Hermione smiled. _How __silly of me, to be startled by this._

"What is it you fear, my sweet?" Hermione had not noticed that he had bent down beside her. His long fingers danced calming, nonsensical patterns over her back and arms, further arousing a strange, warm feeling in her heart and mind. _Nothing here will harm me. I am safe._

"It isn't this." She traced her blood crusted fingers over the wand. "It was just a bit of a surprise." Hermione knitted her brows and began to nibble her lip.

"Careful Hermione, lest that become a habit." He teased her lips apart with his thumb. She gave him a sheepish grin. "Is it the dark you fear, Hermione?" She gave a tiny nod of her head.

"Yes, but..." Hermione wrapped her free hand around his "…it is more than that. I-I don't know exactly how to describe it...." She squeezed his hand, asking him to understand what she could not articulate.

Her Lord leaned into her ear. "I know my sweet, I know." His breath tickled her ear. "You are afraid of all that you have lost, and the darkness is what you must face." Hermione whispered a near imperceptibl_e yes, _hand still clutching his.

Lord Voldemort helped Hermione to her feet. "I will show you how to conquer your fears, but it will not be the easiest of paths." Her eyes glimmered in their darkness, yet she gave a sharp nod.

"Very good, my sweet." He practically purred. Hermione hoped he was as blind as she was in this room, for that deep rumble had made her blush head to toe.

"You must first learn to never take anything as it appears, for nothing is _ever _as it seems." She felt a light tap on her wand. "You would have me believe that this magnificent artifact is nothing but a piece of wood. For magic," he mocked her words yet again, "is not feasible.I could say the same if one lost all memories of their past." Hermione bristled at this, but his next words stilled her retort. "But the fact is, you, my poor, sweet ward, have lost knowledge of yourself completely, and it is my duty as your master to help you regain your person."

"And who was I?" Hermione questioned softly. His chuckle surprised her.

"The answer is not so simple, Hermione. You are far too complex of a person to have such a limited reply, even if it was from Lord Voldemort, who knows you best. No Hermione, you must discover yourself."

"My Lord…," she found his red eyes in the dark, the rest of him invisible to her, or perhaps his body had vanished with her memories into vapor.

"Yes, my sweet?"

"I am so lost." It hurt her to admit it, even now, even to him.

"Lord Voldemort has promised to show you how to conquer your fears. I will not abandon you; no – you are mine, and I take the utmost care in protecting that which is mine." As her eyes adjusted, she could begin to distinguish the outline of his cheeks, yet his pale visage still seemed to be nothing more than a ghostly mirage in the blackness.

"Thank you. Perhaps...perhaps you could tell me where to start?"

"Think Hermione, you know the answer to that." She looked down at her wand. _Yes. _"Intuition told you it was yours, but _why _is it yours?"

"It is a part of me." Hermione had no doubt of it.

"Correct, but now tell me, _what _is a part of you? The wand itself is a mere catalyst for something far more great."

The words _childish nonsense _teased her mind. "It can't be...it's not...magic?"

"Indeed." She could see his teeth now, formed in some nightmare of a smile. "You Hermione, have – _are – magic_."

She desperately wanted to believe him. But to be a part of something so wonderful, something so delightfully _glorious _seemed too much to bear. To hope for it was painful.

As if sensing her despair, the teeth began to move. "Feeling is the key to believing. Simply showing you would not win your sense. Your Lord implores you, Hermione, to not only see, but to _feel _the magic. Let it flow through you, and when you feel it, it will appear. Your magic insures you will _never _be alone. Conquer your fear of darkness with the knowledge that you, your magic, will always be a light in the dark." Hermione could see his whole face now, and felt the air around her move to the word '_Lumos.'_

_What do I do? Just say 'Lumos,' and the darkness will disappear? _Hermione was skeptical, but the fire of hope in her heart assured she would try.

She extended her wand and muttered, "Lumos." There was no light. Hermione tried again, again there was no light. After an exasperated sigh, she tried yet again. Still no light. Disgruntled, Hermione dropped her heavy arm and shook away the numbness.

Hermione felt him move behind her, and gasped softly when he pressed his chest against her back. She blushed when he put his hand lightly around hers.

"On the count of three repeat the incantation," he murmured, "and let yourself lose all fear of darkness."

"One."

He guided her arm back into the air. It was light as a feather.

"Two."

She clasped her fingers tighter around her wand, inexplicably unperturbed by the warmth emanating from it.

"Three."

He dropped her hand on his count. At the same time, Hermione voiced, loudly and clearly, "Lumos!" Her wand erupted in light and illuminated the room. Startled, she nearly dropped her wand, but her Lord's hand was back around hers.

"Magic, my dear, exists." Hermione gazed in wonder at the glowing tip of her wand. She could not remember the past, but she knew this was _right._ Hermione turned to her companion, eyes glinting with the light of her spell. It was _he _whoshowed her this magic, this amazing piece of her. How much had he taught her before? A curious smile spread across her flushed face as she looked into her Lord's haughty eyes. She licked her lips at his arrogant smirk, oddly pleased with his satisfaction. _There is so much to learn._

"Please," she whispered with heated longing, "show me more."

* * *

_A big thanks to everyone for their patience and support. My last year of high school has been extremely taxing, leaving very little time for the good stuff. Apologies for the delay in an update. This might be my favorite chapter so far...ahhh first experiences with underwide bras and magic ;)_


	5. Chapter 4

**Obliviate**

**Chapter 04**

"But of course, Hermione." He offered her his hand. "Come with me."

When she placed her hand in his, the torches in the room, those which had inexplicably extinguished, just as inexplicably re-lit themselves. Hermione raised an eyebrow.

"Magic, I presume?" She tapped her glowing wand against his hand. "There is no need for this now."

"You must _will _your magic to do as you command. You must focus your desires into your magic, Hermione, and then focus your magic into your wand." Hermione closed her eyes and felt a tickle of warmth in her wand hand. _ No light is necessary. Extinguish. _The wand light flickered and died. Hermione laughed gleefully.

"Oh, look!" She beamed at Lord Voldemort, squeezing his hand. "I did it!"

His thin lips quirked into a half smile. "So it would seem." He tugged on her hand and began leading her towards the door. "Now, that was a _simple _desire. I am nonetheless impressed that you did not even need to speak the incantation _Nox_. You will find that, unlike with simple desires, instinct is not enough when it comes to harnessing your complex desires. Speaking the spell will be necessary in order to unleash your magic…at least in the beginning."

Lord Voldemort led her across the hallway and into the room facing hers. It was empty save for a single table with a small black book and quill.

"Magic is part of your being, Hermione. It has and always will be." Lord Voldemort picked up the book and handed it to Hermione. "However, what are we if we remain unpracticed and uncultivated? What are we if we do nothing with our power? We are nothing but potential, and potential is _nothing. _Right now, dear Hermione, you are nothing but potential." He hissed. He motioned towards the quill on the table and handed her the book. "Begin your journey to become _something_. Sign this, Hermione, and swear to me that you will become_ everything_ you _want _to be_." _

Hermione looked down at the book. To sign it would be such a simple act. But Hermione knew that this act meant so much more than a simple signature. It was a promise to her Lord, but more importantly, it was a promise to herself.

_To become everything I want to be…_

_"You Hermione, have – are – magic." _His words echoed in her thoughts. Magic. Hermione examined her wand. It was still warm. She laid it on the table and held her hand over it.

She could feel the heat radiating on her palm.

Hermione looked at the book. Cautiously, she opened it to the first page. Hermione looked at her Lord. In his dark red eyes she saw the reflection of her own heart's passion. The desire _to know. _

_I am nothing but potential. _

Hermione's eyes hardened.

_And potential is nothing. _

_Without knowledge, I am nothing. _

_What have I got to lose?_

Lord Voldemort smiled.

Hermione picked up the quill and without even the slightest tremor, signed her name. A stinging pain shot through her hand. She hissed and flexed her right hand, now an angry shade of pink. Hermione looked down at the book and saw the red of her blood shine in stark contrast to the white of the page. _Hermione_.

It did not occur to her that this meant she remembered how to write.

"Very good, my sweet." Lord Voldemort purred. He gently brushed his thumb over her stinging hand. "Think of this as your contract to me, Hermione. You now have…certain responsibilities."

"What kind of responsibilities, my Lord?" She asked. Lord Voldemort did not reply immediately. He gently tugged the book out of her left hand with a lazy smirk.

"For now, we must content ourselves with the basics." He slid the book into a pocket of his robes where it was engulfed in the voluminous garment. Hermione noted that there wasn't even a bulge to indicate that the book was tucked away. "Come, Hermione." Lord Voldemort gestured for her to follow him through a doorway which had not been there a moment ago.

Hermione swallowed, eyes halfway closed, and walked forward slowly. She ran her hands up the sides of the entryway as though afraid it would disappear.

Then Hermione looked up, and her world changed.

The library was magnificent. Torchlight illuminated shelves upon shelves of books that were even taller than her Lord. As Hermione followed Lord Voldemort, she couldn't help from craning her neck and smiling at the rows of books that lined the room. There was a second and even a third floor of books above the ground floor, accessible by the several spiral staircases weaving up the walls.

Lord Voldemort led her through the stacks until they reached a sitting area on the other end of the library. There were several squashy looking armchairs and a desk surrounding a massive and ornately decorated hearth, and in it a roaring fire burned. Voldemort gestured for her to take a seat at the desk before he disappeared behind a monstrously tall shelf.

"I don't know where to begin!" Overwhelmed with delightful possibilities, Hermione practically danced over to the desk chair. Lord Voldemort appeared moments later from behind a bookshelf, carrying several enormous books. Hermione stared at them with a hungry gleam in her eyes.

"We need to start small." Voldemort said languidly, evidently enjoying her longing gaze. Hermione sniffed as Voldemort took a longer time than necessary to lay the books on the table. She immediately snatched the one on top.

"And this is your idea of small?" She said sardonically, smiling broadly as she flipped through _Anatomy and __Physiology of the Magickal versus the non-Magickal Person _by Jacqueline Hyde_._

"These textbooks contain the most fundamental information for understanding what it means to be _human. _These books describe the ontic self; the body, its' organs, their functions, how they make us breathe…" He leaned over her and slowly trailed a finger down her neck, "…and how our heat, how our blood, keeps us alive." Slowly, he took one of her hands and pressed it against her exposed neck. Hermione could feel a slight _thumping _against her palm.

"Wow," Hermione breathed. "That is incredible." She could feel the pounding under her skin deepen as he leaned closer to her, but did not know why.

"Read now, Hermione. I will remain in the vicinity, but as I have my own matters to attend you I cannot simply sit and acknowledge every single new bit of information you learn. Do not disturb me unless you absolutely require my attention." His words were strong but it was the silent _or else_ reflected in his red eyes that made Hermione's pulse quicken even more. He went to sit by the fireplace, where he began to read a large, grey tome that had seemingly materialized out of thin air. Shaking her head and forcing herself not to focus on that distraction, Hermione returned her attention to the book in her hands.

Hermione opened Hyde's book to the first page and read the first sentence. She then decided she had no idea what was going on. What on earth was a 'muggle?' She opened her mouth and looked up. Her Lord seemed immersed in whatever it was that he was reading, and she had no desire to tempt his wrath.

_Well, I guess I'll just have to figure this out on my own. _

She had to read the first chapter three times before realizing that the word 'muggle' was being used in contrast with 'wizard' and thus were respectively referring to the terms 'non-Magickal' and 'Magickal' of the book's title. After this dawned on her, the book went from being nearly incomprehensible to enlightening.

Hermione found it remarkable that, anatomically, there were no differences between wizards and muggles. She was sure that those who performed magic, such as herself and her Lord, had to possess a certain physical attribute that allowed them to harness magic. But no, it seemed. What was it, then, that allowed a human to be magical? Or what was it that suppressed it in so many? According to the statistics presented in the book, muggles outnumbered the magical nearly fifteen to one. Why was this? Didn't magic inherently make a person more powerful? Hermione remembered that strange, amazing warmth that vibrated through her entire body when she cast a spell. To not be able to harness that power…worse, to be completely ignorant to its existence, was a painful thought.

It was not until she was well over 150 pages in that Hermione realized something truly alarming. Hesitantly, she asked,

"My Lord...I have not read very much, but it seems that there are certain limitations as to what a human being, magical or not, _can_ actually do." Hermione bit her lip. "When I signed that book…you told me to swear to become whatever I _wanted _to be…but…there seem to be some things a human _cannot _do." Slowly, he looked up from his book and turned to face her. Hermione, nervous about his reaction, hastily added, "But this is a very basic text and I am sure magic makes many more things possible than what could-"

"Yes, it does indeed Hermione." Thankfully, he did not look or sound irritated. Voldemort looked thoughtful more than anything else. "However, as you'll read in the next book," he pointed towards Jonathan Hocke's _Theory of Magickal Law _there are a few "natural laws of magic" that are considered basic fundamental principles that govern the entire population of the magical. An example of such is the universal inability to truly reanimate a human after death; bringing back either the body or the mind is possible, but the combination of the two is considered impossible." It must have been a trick of the eyes, but Hermione swore he smirked at this. Hermione found the idea of bringing _any _part of oneself back from the dead disturbing. "It is not a supremely rare occurrence that the mind leaves its' imprint in the world of the living. These minds take the figure of the person they once were, and they are called ghosts. Ghosts are neither inherently malevolent nor helpful, but their attitude depends on who they were when alive, and the manner in which they died." He then turned back to his book, dismissing her.

Fascinated, Hermione returned to her readings, feeling both elated and slightly perturbed. She desperately wanted to know how a person became a ghost, and was equally as interested as to how a body could be brought back –she hadn't missed the fact that he hadn't gone into depth about that. But why would anyone do that? Hermione pushed her luck by raising another question.

"My Lord, if a person is dead, and their mind does not leave an imprint, how is it that their body can be brought back? Wouldn't they be a shell of a human?" Voldemort did not look up, but he hummed to let her know that he had heard.

"Another wizard must bring them back. Now, _that _is a rare occurrence. Very few wizards and witches have had even the magical ability to bring back the dead; it is quite a feat, to be able to harness life in such a way that a corpse is reanimated."

"But it's not really life, is it? You said that it's _either _the mind or the body that comes back; not both."

Voldemort did now sound annoyed when he responded "Yes, Hermione. Therein lies the rub." Though she wanted to continue the conversation, his tone indicated he was in no mood to reply to her anymore. She returned to her reading, mind whirring. Fleeting images crossed through her mind, of humans with empty eyes and gaping mouths. What if her Lord had never found her? Would she be a listless cadaver, the mere prop of some great, frightening, unknown entity?

She quickly shook the thought away. She had much to be thankful for, thanks to her Master.

xxx

The chapters flew by, and Hermione did not know how long she read for; the vague concept of time was still slightly perplexing to her, but the hands of the large grandfather clock had moved four numerals since she had first opened the book. As the clock continued to move at its never changing pace, Hermione began to slow down. It was taking her longer and longer to finish each page, and the words were beginning to blur and move together.

_Sleep…_

Hermione laid her head against the spine of the book. Her lashes tickled the pages as she struggled to keep her eyes open. Her gaze wandered towards her Lord, who had yet to move from his armchair. As her eyelids grew heavier, she lost focus, and Voldemort's figure began to blur and melt into the fire.

On the cusp of oblivion, an echo of a past life began to whisper words unknown yet achingly familiar.

"…to be wish'd. To die, to sleep, perchance to dream…" Hermione murmured. Voldemort's sharply turned his head towards her, but by the time Hermione's words had reached him, she was already asleep. He slowly walked over to her. The girl was dead to the world. She breathed steadily, mouth slightly open. Voldemort brushed an errant curl off her face. He lifted her out of the chair and into his arms. As he carried Hermione back to her room, she spoke softly,

"For in that sleep of death what dreams may come…"

Voldemort laid Hermione down on the mattress. He watched her as she burrowed her head in the pillow and waited to see if she said more of that which should have been forgotten.

But she spoke no more.

After a long moment, Voldemort leaned over her "For in that sleep of death what dreams may come…" he whispered into her ear, causing her hair to flutter gently across her face. Hermione moaned lightly in her sleep but otherwise did not stir.

"…when we have shuffled off this mortal coil." Lord Voldemort then kissed her forehead lightly and swept out of the room like a shadow. He paused at the threshold, turning to Hermione's sleeping form with a smile of nightmares across his pale face.

"Sweet dreams, Hermione."

The door closed behind him with a _click, _leaving Hermione alone in the dark.

* * *

_Apologies for the un-beta-d chapter (I did, however, look it over). Lots of subtle foreshadowing here. To my audience, what is your favorite metaphor? (the scope of this question isn't limited to this chapter). Why is it your favorite? Is it of your own creation? Goodnight to all, and sweet dreams.._


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